Classic Poem

I.

OAK KNOLL, DANVERS .

THE POET'S HOME .

How gracious Nature is, and yet half-shy!
?The more you search, the more there seems to be
Which longest looking fails to satisfy,
?Something eluding you like mystery.
Sighting the friendly roof, an oak-set knoll
?That rises midway, gives the place its name;
What comfort that this oak-like, sheltering soul,
?With all the bounty of his faith and fame,
Should overshadow such a tragic soil,
?And somehow seem to deepen their repose
Whom Superstition tangled in her toil,
?And Zeal devoted as the Maker's foes!
The heart of witchcraft shook this very place,
?Which has not yet its witchery outgrown!
Felt only now, thank God, in Nature's face
?With Genius' liberal light athwart it thrown.
II

ON HIS SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY .

T WO dear, familiar songs that Art has sought
?To set the canvas singing to the eye,
But whose expression Color has not caught—
?Just these the world might ever know thee by.
Yet sweet Maud Muller and the Barefoot Boy
?Leave other songs a wealthy fame to share;
The broken shackle, Nature's calm and joy,
?Life's crowding passions—all of these are there.
And thou hast given the pained and erring heart
?Such words as fit its inmost solitude;
From Fame, Devotion has not lived apart,
?And men grow strong through seeing Greatness good.
Thou feelest all the moment of the Cross,
?The ungauged value of a human soul,
And Trust, consenting not to lasting loss,
?Lets her large hope in harp-like music roll.
Thyself Apostle of Love, how meet thy name!
?Still bearing love's sweet gospel in thy voice,
Be measure of thy days and his the same,
?And some high vision prove the Master's choice.